


Never Drive Faster Than Your Guardian Angel Can Fly

by writteninhaste



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-22
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-14 16:17:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2198472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writteninhaste/pseuds/writteninhaste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin was in heaven, minding his own business, when he was told he was to become the guardian angel of Arthur Pendragon. Written for rane_ab’s Guardian Angel plot bunny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Cumulous, Merlin decided, were definitely the most comfortable of the cloud varieties. The one he currently occupied was fluffy and light and just the right shade of white so as to compliment his wings rather than make them look dirty. He was attempting to drift off but one of the latest cherubs was practicing his lyre and had managed the impossible in making it sound like a screeching cat. Determinedly shutting his eyes, Merlin had just plucked two tufts of cloud and was preparing to use them as ear plugs when a shadow fell across his face. Pealing one eye open, Merlin stifled a groan when he saw the tell-tale sceptre complete with glowing orb of light. A Hashmallim. Brilliant.  
  
Sitting up straighter, Merlin squinted past the light and felt his stomach drop all the way to the Earthly realms. Scrambling to his feet, Merlin managed a rough approximation of a bow.  
  
“Sir.”  
  
“Emrys.” The disapproval in the Dominion’s tone was clear, and Merlin cringed. Before he could offer some vague form of apology, the other angel continued speaking. “You have a new assignment. A mortal is in need of protection and guidance. Guard him well, Emrys, for he is the Once and Future King.” The Hashmallim surveyed him critically. Merlin tried to subtly smooth his wings. At last the Dominion smiled. “How small you are, Emrys, for such a  _great_  destiny.” He disappeared in a burst of light and heavenly choir, leaving Merlin to puzzle out just how he was supposed to find his charge without knowing his name.  
  
The question was answered for him when, moments later, he was sucked down through the clouds and dropped unceremoniously in what looked to be a castle courtyard. White stone walls rose up towards the heaven’s and a scarlet flag flew from the battlements. With a snap, the wind unfurled the cloth, displaying with pride the golden image of the dragon rampant.  
  
 _Oh, come on._  Merlin thought,  _You’ve got to be kidding me._


	2. Chapter 1

Merlin perched on top of the parapets and sighed. Since his arrival in Camelot’s courtyard, he had learnt two things: 1) that amorous pigeons were often of a mind to proposition anything with wings and 2) that Princes, in contrast to Princesses, tended not to walk around with tiaras on their heads and were therefore less readily identifiable. Merlin had tried scouting the castle chambers in the hope of hearing someone address a young man as “your highness” but he had been unsuccessful. All he  _had_  managed to do, was to happen upon King Uther as he was dressing – and that was a sight Merlin never wished to see again. Ever. Thank goodness mortals could not see guardian angels.  
  
Of all the places to send him, it would have to be Camelot, wouldn’t it? The one place in all of Albion, where magic was punishable by death and was therefore the weapon of choice for all aspiring assassins and malcontents. Merlin was going to have his work cut out for him. Casting his eyes balefully across the castle grounds, Merlin’s gaze alighted on a young man in armour standing just outside the castle grounds. He made a rather striking picture. The sun was sparking off plate armour and sinking into hair the colour of sun-ripened wheat. If it wasn’t highly inappropriate for angels to have such thoughts Merlin would have quite fancied running his fingers through it. Or perhaps spend his evenings composing poetry to the young man’s tresses. It occurred to Merlin that the altitude of heaven might have addled his brains somewhat. Shuffling, Merlin focused his attention on the scene below him. The blonde young man was surrounded by a few loutish fellows and seemed to be addressing a hapless young lad who appeared to be carrying a table. Moments later it became clear that it was in fact a target, not a table, and that the young blonde man was throwing knives at it – whilst the hapless lad was still carrying the thing. Someone had to put a stop to this.   
  
Standing up, Merlin made to soar swiftly down to where the group of men were standing. He spread his wings, leapt from the battlements, misjudged it all somewhat, and plummeted to Earth. He landed in a feathery heap at the bottom of the castle wall. Irritably, and with all the grace of a lame goose, Merlin got to his feet and brushed himself off. Choosing walking as the safest mode of transport, Merlin stalked off across the courtyard to where ‘the prat’ and his companions were still tormenting the other boy.  
  
As the blonde prepared to hurl his final knife, Merlin tugged on a few metaphysical strings and sent the young man sprawling. His companions seemed torn between laughter and feigned ignorance. In the end they opted for the latter, allowing the blonde to reclaim his dignity as he pushed himself to his feet. He cast around for his dagger, only to find it lying several feet away under a small deposit of manure – an event Merlin knew absolutely nothing about. Merlin did not know whether to be disgusted or impressed as the man prepared to delve into the dug to retrieve his knife, when one of his companions stopped him.  
  
“Allow me, my lord.”  
  
Oh, so blondie must be a knight then. Figured. But, surely the other men were knights to – they all wore armour, carried swords – they were all reasonably well dressed. So why would they address this man in particular as ‘my lord’. The only reason they would do that was if –   
  
 _No. No, no, no, no._ Merlin thought fervently, as he looked the young man up in down.  _Please, not him. It can’t be him. He’s a prat._  The blonde accepted the knife from the knight with a nod, and sheathed it. Merlin crossed his fingers and lodged a fervent prayer. The knight obviously took the nod to be a gesture of thanks.  
  
“You’re welcome, Sire.”  
  
Merlin swore.   
  
A nearby tree was incinerated by an accidental lightening bolt.  
  
***  
  
As he followed the Prince back to his rooms, Merlin sulked. The prat’s name was apparently Arthur and his ego was the size of – something very large. Merlin kept having to resist the urge to trip the Prince as he was walking.  
  
“Merlin?”  
  
Merlin nearly jumped out of his skin. Turning, he let out a cry of joy and launched himself at the young woman currently hovering a foot off the ground.  
  
“Gwen!” The other angel looked torn between joy and mortification that Merlin had chosen to greet her in such a manner. Blushing, she gently extricated herself from his grip and followed as he continued to follow Arthur through the castle halls.   
  
“What are you doing here?” Merlin asked excitedly. “Last I heard you were with a young woman in Eire.”  
  
Gwen nodded. “The Lady Morgana. She is now the king’s ward.”   
  
Merlin grinned. “Small world.” Gwen smiled beatifically.  
  
“I should return to her side,” she said, already beginning to meld into the wall, “take care Merlin – and protect your charge.”  
  
“Guide her well.” Merlin returned, waving goodbye as Gwen disappeared from sight.  
  
Arthur stopped between a pair of impressively large oak doors and drew a key from beneath his shirt. Merlin fluttered his wings impatiently, as the Prince turned the key in the lock.   
  
The rooms, once Prince and angel were inside revealed themselves to be spacious, if a little drafty. Settling himself against the table, Merlin watched as the Prince drew quill, ink and parchment from a cabinet near the window and set about reviewing the Kingdom’s administration.   
  
Three hours later he was still at it.   
  
Merlin had taken to sprawling across the fur rug placed before the fire, one hand idly attempting to smooth his wings. Why was it that no matter how hard he tried they always looked scruffy?  
  
A knock on the door drew both Merlin and Arthur’s attention.   
  
“Enter.”  
  
Merlin raised his eyebrows. He had not realised it was possible for one person to sound so obnoxious with just one word. A servant poked his head around the door.  
  
“My lord, I was sent to attend you? The feast to honour Lady Helen’s arrival begins within the hour.”  
  
“Yes, yes, come in then.” Arthur said, laying his quill down and scattering sand across the parchment to dry it. Merlin quickly left the room as the servant began to unlace the Prince’s shirt. He toyed with the idea of visiting Gwen, but decided against it. He still had not worked out how to navigate the castle and did not particularly want to end up wandering its halls like some aimless ghost.   
  
Eventually, Arthur emerged, resplendent in red tunic and scarlet cloak. The servant who followed him looked suitably intimidated. Merlin understood how he felt.  
  
***  
  
The banquet hall was decked out in full regalia with courtiers conversing whilst servants moved amongst them baring trays of wine and ale. Merlin swept the room for Gwen but couldn’t see her. Choosing a spot just to the side of the high table, Merlin settled in to watch the evening go by.   
  
Merlin resisted the urge to summon a gust of wind to blow Uther’s crown off when the King stood to announce Lady Helen’s recital. He had watched, sick at heart, as Camelot’s monarch had parted bodies from their heads. Uther began to give a speech celebrating twenty years of a magic-free realm and Merlin decided he needed air. Gwen was still nowhere to be seen.  
  
Fading through the wall, Merlin hovered by a second story window and watched the city. Tiny pinpricks of light were picked out against the cloth of Camelot – a mirror of the stars in the night sky. Tilting his head back, Merlin raised a hand to trace Orion. The majesty of the heavens would never cease to amaze him. As the wind whispered through his wings, Merlin fancied he could here the lilting song drifting through the walls. It rose and fell; a haunting harmony that wove around the listener like a dream. Suddenly, a jarring burst, a discord to the harmony, clawed through Merlin’s mind. Something was wrong.   
  
Turning, Merlin sped through the wall and back into the great hall. The air felt thick and heavy, cloying and slightly rancid – the taste of dark magic lay heavy on his tongue. A creature stood in Lady Helen’s dress, one hand raised to throw the knife. Her gaze was fixed on Arthur.  
  
Without thinking, Merlin dove forward. He flew across the space separating him from the Prince, dragging the young man to him and spreading his wings as a shield to encircle them both. He cradled Arthur against his chest as the knife shattered against his feathers and the spell broke. Merlin heard the witch shriek in rage, only for her breath to be cut short with a gurgle as a knight thrust his sword through her heart. Merlin bit his lip as his eyes pricked with unshed tears. Another murder; so much murder in this kingdom.  
  
Opening his eyes, Merlin found himself staring into eyes as blue as summer skies. Arthur’s mouth was open in soft amazement, and he was staring at Merlin with a mixture of awe and horror.   
  
 _He can see me,_  Merlin thought bewildered.  _I don’t think that’s supposed to happen._


	3. Chapter 2

The moments after the attempt on the Prince’s life passed in a blur of: one shouting king, thirty fussing courtiers, six heavily armed guards and two inordinately confused young men – one of whom happened to have wings. Arthur was ordered to his chambers, accompanied by said guards, with Merlin drifting cautiously behind. Arthur strode through the corridors staring fixedly ahead, and seemed (for the moment) to be resolutely pretending that the young man dressed in white, who gave off a faint beatific glow and had moments ago been cradling him in his arms, was simply a figment of his imagination.  
  
The guards left and Arthur busied himself with stripping off his cloak and tunic, whilst gazing out the window. Merlin was still hovering somewhere behind the Prince’s elbow but Arthur paid no heed. Merlin was beginning to think that perhaps he had imagined Arthur’s being able to see him after all. Minutes passed and the Crown Prince seemed oblivious. Relieved, Merlin heaved a sigh of relief, and dropped until his feet touched the flagstones, whereupon found himself unexpectedly sprawled across the floor, Arthur’s sword at his throat.  
  
Merlin gulped. Ordinarily he would not have been too bothered by the weapon – but seeing as how Arthur could apparently see him, Merlin was not about to test what other rules concerning angels and the mortal realms were about to be broken.  
  
“Who are you?” Arthur’s voice was calm, collected and Merlin thought he sounded a little scary. The fact that Arthur's sword was very sharp and very pointy may have had something to do with this.  
  
“My name’s Merlin.” Merlin said, trying to crane his neck away without seeming to obvious about it.  
  
“A rather odd name for a sorcerer.” Arthur remarked, “Hardly the stuff of legend is it?”  
  
Merlin looked aghast. “I’m not a sorcerer.” He cried. “I’m an angel.”  
  
Arthur scowled at him. “Do not lie to me sorcerer. All know that angels are creatures of awe and majesty. You obviously possess neither trait – though I will admit the wings and the levitation are impressive. Besides,” He continued, with a look on his face that suggested he was about to deliver the coup de grace, “you don’t have a halo.”  
  
Merlin felt the blush warming his cheeks and cursed his fair skin. He muttered something unintelligible.  
  
“I’m sorry?” Arthur queried, a hint of mockery in his voice.  
  
“I  _said_  I lost it, alright?” Merlin said, forgetting to be afraid in the face of his annoyance. “I was flying, and I wasn’t looking where I was going, and I bumped into a storm cloud and the blasted thing fell off. So I don’t have a halo. Not until the Dominions see fit to issue me a new one.”  
  
Arthur looked like he was in serious danger of laughing. Merlin simply glared at him peevishly.   
  
“Look,” Merlin said, when it became apparent that Arthur seemed more than happy to stand all evening with his sword pointed at Merlin’s throat. “I don’t mean to impose but do you think you could stop threatening me with this piece of oversized cutlery? Only, the floor’s not all that comfortable.” Arthur seemed supremely unimpressed with this bit of wit.  
  
He seemed to weight the situation for a moment, before cautiously re-sheathing his sword. Merlin rolled his eyes.  
  
“ _Thank_  you.” The frown that snapped onto Arthur’s features reminded Merlin that now, perhaps, was not the time for sarcasm.  
  
“So you’re an angel.” Arthur said at last, settling his weight against the back of a colossal, fur lined, chair.  
  
“Yes. I am. Your guardian angel to be exact.” Merlin flared his wings in what he hoped was a dramatic pose, only to frown when he noticed that several of his feathers had been bent out of shape by his unexpected encounter with the floor. Concerned as he was with fussing with the appendages, Merlin missed Arthur’s looked of horrified incredulity.  
  
“ _You_?” Arthur demanded. “You’re my guardian angel.”  
  
“Yep.” Merlin answered, bouncing on the balls of his feet restlessly. Arthur’s gaze swept him up and down.  
  
“I don’t need a guardian angel.” The Prince said hastily. His tone clearly implied that he thought himself in more danger in Merlin’s company than out of it.  
  
“Sorry,” Merlin shrugged, “you don’t get a say in the matter. I have orders same as all the other guardians. Usually our charges go their entire lives without knowing we’re there. Don’t ask why you can see me,” he added, when Arthur opened his mouth, “because I don’t know.” Arthur closed his mouth again and looked pensive.  
  
“So you’re going to be following me around for the rest of my life?”  
  
Merlin smiled brightly, “Pretty much.”  
  
Arthur looked like he would have quite liked to throw a tantrum – if it weren’t for the fact that princes were supposed to be dignified.  
  
***  
  
Merlin was watching Arthur sleep when Gwen faded into existence at his side.  
  
“I saw what happened,” she said quietly, “is he alright?”  
  
Merlin nodded, tensing as the Prince’s brow furrowed in his sleep for a moment before easing. “He’s fine. He was a right prat all evening – so I’m assuming it’s business as usual.” His lips quirked in a crooked smile, and Gwen bit her lip in amusement.   
  
“I’m just glad you got there in time.” Gwen told him, eyes widening comically when Merlin quirked an eyebrow at her. “Not that I think you wouldn’t have gotten there in time – I’m not doubting you – you’re a very good guardian angel. I only meant –”  
  
“Gwen,” Merlin said, covering one of her hands with his, “it’s fine. I’m glad I got there too. I dread to think what the boss would have done to me if I’d let my charge die on the first day.”  
  
Gwen winced in sympathy. The Dominion in charge of Merlin’s host was an ornery creature with the temperament and patience of a chained dragon. In contrast, Gwen’s Hashmallim, Charlie, was lovely – if a little mysterious. Merlin never had seen his face.  
  
The conversation turned to Gwen’s charge, the Lady Morgana. Gwen seemed very happy with her assignment. According to Gwen the lady had wit, intelligence, and a pleasant – if somewhat restless – disposition. She wished to change the world, and felt any injustice committed against the people as keenly as if it had been committed against her own person.  
  
“So, not a prat then?” Merlin joked when Gwen looked set to rhapsodise about Morgana for hours. Gwen simply laughed and gave Merlin a look of mild disapproval.  
  
“You shouldn’t speak so of your charge, Merlin. He is a prince.”  
  
Merlin snorted but did not say anything.   
  
“Do you want to fly over the city with me?” Gwen offered.  
  
Merlin hesitated. With any other charge he would not have thought twice about leaving them for the mere hour it would take to peruse the city. But Arthur had already been attacked in the short hours Merlin had been his guardian and at a time when Merlin had not been with him. He wavered, watching as the sheets slid from Arthur’s chest as he expelled a breath. Merlin’s mouth went dry. Battle-marked skin and a battle-hardened body.  _Prat_ Merlin reminded himself,  _prat, prat, prat, prat, prat_  
  
Turning to Gwen, he nodded, hoping that the action did not look quite so desperate as it felt. “Great idea.” He proclaimed. “Nothing better than flying at night over a sleeping city. Very restful.” Gwen eyed him with concern and Merlin conceded that perhaps he had over done it a little. He was not known in heaven for his eagerness to take exercise. Merlin offered his friend his most winning smile in compensation. Gwen blushed rather prettily in response.  
  
As they made their way towards the outer wall, Merlin felt something heavy settle around the edges of his heart. Shrugging the sensation away, Merlin stretched his wings and followed Gwen through the wall. The two angels rose towards the heavens. The moon was already beginning to set and the lights in the city had all died. Merlin climbed higher, revelling in the feeling of night air rushing past his face. He was about to call out to Gwen when he felt a tug at his heart. Merlin frowned. He felt taught, and slightly frayed, all of a sudden – like an elastic band that had been pulled to breaking point. Angling his wings, Merlin attempted to ride the currents higher. He stalled, and barely had time to register that Gwen had turned above him to see what was going on, when with a ping he was yanked back the way he had come.  
  
Merlin gave a yell, more from surprise than anything else, as he tumbled backwards through the air, shooting through the walls and tumbling head over heals across Arthur’s floor. He hit the foot of Arthur’s bed with a resounding crack and lay there moaning. Distantly, he could hear someone yelling and the sound of Gwen’s worried tones.  
  
The last thought he had before the darkness claimed him was,  _Ow._


	4. Chapter 3

Merlin awoke to the sound of a crackling fire and the feeling of something soft and downy beneath him. He made to sit up, only to abandon the attempt with a groan when his head informed him how much it disliked the idea.  
  
“Good, you’re awake.” Arthur's voice said from somewhere in the room. Merlin heard the scraping of a chair, the whisper of boots against the floor and then blue eyes and blonde hair filled Merlin’s vision. “It took you long enough.”  
  
Merlin whimpered. The regal tones of the Crown Prince were really far too loud for Merlin to deal with at the moment. Arthur frowned.  
  
“I wasn’t aware that angels could knock themselves unconscious.”   
  
Merlin scowled and struggled to sit upright, in the hopes of masking the blush he could feel creeping up his neck. He hadn’t been aware angels could knock themselves out either. Ignoring the pounding in his temples, Merlin heaved himself out of the bed, ignoring Arthur’s indignation at the rumpled bed linen.   
  
“Where’s Gwen?” Merlin asked, casting around for sight of the other angel.  
  
Arthur blinked at him before slowly raising one hand, curling two fingers towards his palm. “How many fingers am I holding up?”  
  
Merlin batted the hand away. “Three. Now where’s Gwen?” Arthur looked ready to say something else, but at that moment Gwen stuck her head through the wall. Upon seeing Merlin up and about she rushed over, hands fluttering from his brow to his temples and then to the lump that had formed at the back of Merlin’s head.   
  
“Merlin, are you alright? You hit your head so hard. I didn’t even realise that was possible. Do you –”  
  
Merlin laughed, “Gwen, I’m fine really.”  
  
Arthur’s voice interrupted them. “Merlin, who  _are_  you talking?”  
  
Merlin turned, looked at Arthur, looked back at Gwen and returned his attention to Arthur.  
  
“Um, you can’t see her?”  
  
“See  _who_?” Arthur demanded and Merlin could see a vein being to throb in Arthur’s neck. Surely that was not healthy in one so young.  
  
“Gwen.” Merlin answered, pulling the other angel forward to stand beside him. “She’s an angel too.” Arthur simply looked at him like he was crazy. “Right,” Merlin said to the room at large, “interesting.” Gwen joined Arthur in his looked of incredulity.  
  
“Do  _you_  know why he can see me and not you?” Merlin asked, unsurprised when Gwen mutely shook her head. Merlin sighed.  
  
A bird twittered just outside the window; dawn was approaching. Merlin wondered how far off it was. As though the heavens had heard his thoughts, the sun chose that moment to slip above the horizon, beating back the twilight in a wash of crimson and gold. Merlin threw up an arm to shield himself against the lancing light and heard Arthur let out a strangled noise behind him. He spun, concerned, only to be taken aback by the look of soft wonder on Arthur’s features. The Prince was looking at him with something bordering on reverence, eyes wide and lips softly parted. Gwen leaned in to whisper in his ear. “Can’t you see how you look to him?” And Merlin  _could_.   
  
It was as though he was looking through Arthur's eyes. He saw himself soaked in golden light, skin pale enough to glow, wings spread and wreathed in the crimson flames of sunrise. He could feel how it felt to be pinned by a gaze bluer than any mortal shade, by a being whose very hair seemed to be carved from midnight. The emotion was almost overwhealming. Merlin reached out, and Arthur with a caution that belied the warrior spirit within, mirrored him. Their fingers brushed, and Merlin felt something bright and fierce, and that tasted of eternity, flare within his chest. He heard Gwen gasp and could only imagine what they looked like: an angel and his Prince.   
  
The jarring sound of a cockerel announcing the dawn broke them from their trance. Arthur coughed and immediately resumed a façade of regal indifference that was only slightly weak around the edges. Merlin envied him; his breath was short, and he was still reeling from something that had felt suspiciously like destiny. Arthur strode from the room without another word, and Merlin with a hurried goodbye, and an apologetic wave to Gwen, was forced to follow.  
  
***  
  
Merlin winced as yet another errant twig snagged on his clothing. He wished he could fly, but the trees allowed for no room to manoeuvre and his one attempt to fly above the canopy had resulted in him being unceremoniously dragged back down to Arthur’s side. Arthur had laughed mercileslly and so Merlin had retaliated by making as much noise as possible, in the hopes of frightening the game away – not that it did any good. Mortal animals apparently could not see him any more than anyone else in Camelot could. Luckily, whilst the animals remained oblivious to Merlin’s crashing about and jumping up and down, Arthur did not. More than once his shot had swung wide as Merlin made a spectacle of himself just outside the line of fire.  
  
Merlin was just taking a moment to enjoy the fact that Arthur had failed to hit the third deer in a row when a hand swung around and smacked him upside the back of the head.  
  
“Ow.” Merlin complained, rubbing the afflicted spot as he turned to face his charge. “What was that for?”  
  
“You’re distracting me.” Arthur informed him, one hand wrapped tight around the crossbow as though he would very much like to aim the next bolt at Merlin rather than a deer.  
  
“I don’t like needless violence.” Merlin said tartly, folding his arms obstinately over his chest. “You shouldn’t go killing things just because you can.” The vein in Arthur’s neck began to throb dangerously again.  
  
“ _Mer_ lin,” he growled, “I don’t know how things work up where you've been living, but down here game is not really in the habit of walking into the kitchens and asking to be slaughtered. Someone has to go and  _catch_  it. The game I catch today goes to feeding the courtiers and servants who live at the castle. Whilst I admit I enjoy hunting – primarily because I’m very good at it – I don’t just do it because I’m a good for nothing layabout who likes to waste his afternoons.” Merlin bit his lip against the urge to inform Arthur that as far as Merlin was concerned Arthur  _was_ just attempting to waste an afternoon – and surely there were servants to hunt game and so forth? That being said, he did not interfere when Arthur brought down a stag to grace the king’s table, though he flat out refused to help Arthur carry the thing back to Camelot.  
  
“How would it look if you just marched up to the castle with four hundred pounds of prime venison floating along behind you?” He demanded, “And for that matter I’m not even sure I  _could_  carry it – I do pass through walls remember?”  
  
“And yet you knock yourself unconscious on my bedposts.” Arthur retorted. Merlin’s head throbbed dully with the memory.  
  
“What sort of a Prince goes hunting without a hunting party anyway?” Merlin asked the dead stag as Arthur set about making a travois on which to haul the carcass back to Camelot. “It’s not as though it’s going to be easy dragging this much dead weight through the woods.”  
  
“Which is why you’re going to help me.” Arthur said, brushing the dirt from his knees as he stood. Merlin sighed.  
  
“We’ve been over this, I –”  
  
“Don’t know whether you’re corporeal enough to help, yes, yes, I know. But the fact that you haven’t even  _tried_  holding the harness aside, surely angels have some type of power. Don’t they?”  
  
Merlin shifted uncomfortably from where he was hovering three feet in the air. “It depends. True power – great power – is limited to the Thrones and the Seraphim. The dominions have some – though that’s mostly over other angels – and you know about arch angels I imagine - everybody does. But guardian angels only have the power of protection – they can’t do anything else.” Too late he realised he had said ‘they’ instead of ‘we’.  
  
“But you’re not a typical guardian angel.” Arthur said, “there’s something about you. Something different.”  
  
Merlin blanched. “How did you–” He began before he remembered the morning, when he had held Arthur’s hand and been able to feel nothing but promise and power. “Yes, I’m different.” He said quietly, unwilling to look in Arthur’s direction.  
  
Silence stretched between them. “Come on then,” Arthur said at last, “come and see if you can help me drag this back to Camelot. Here’s hoping your hands don’t pass right through the rope.”  
  
As Merlin settled one of the ropes across his shoulder, he lodged a fervent, silent prayer.  _Please don’t let him ask about the Powers. Please._


	5. Chapter 4

Camelot was once against hosting a feast of enormous proportion, and it was exceedingly dull. There were no minstrels or entertainers – not after the fiasco with Lady Helen and her imposter – and so there was little to distract from the tedious business of diplomacy. Bored, Merlin draped himself across the back of Arthur’s chair and amused himself by blowing cool air, down the back of his charge’s shirt. Arthur stiffened, but could do nothing to bat him away for fear of looking like a lunatic. The hall was filled to bursting with courtiers both from Camelot and Mercia, waiting to see the treaty signed between the two nations, all of whom would regard the Prince very strangely if he suddenly started slapping at thin air. Merlin directed a jet of air towards Arthur’s earlobe, giggling hysterically when Arthur jumped and nearly upset his wine goblet. Uther directed a stony glare in Arthur’s direction and both Prince and angel sobered immediately. Merlin hated it when Uther looked at Arthur as though he had reason to be disappointed in him. Arthur was a good man, and a good prince. He cared more for his people than Merlin had initially realised and he did not deserve the king’s censure. Muttering a soft apology into Arthur’s ear, Merlin backed away and went to hover beside Gwen who was positioned behind Morgana. The lady was as regal and as beautiful as ever – if a little disgruntled at being paraded like a prize mare before Lord Bayard’s advisors.   
  
Gwen cast him a look that was too polite to be called disapproving but which Merlin felt like a punch to the gut anyway. Embarrassed, he looked away his gaze catching on a flicker of white over by one of the entryways. Tapping Gwen on the shoulder he cocked his head in the direction where what looked suspiciously like a pair of wings, were fluttering in a nervous manner. Curious, Merlin moved to investigate – ignoring Gwen’s cries of protest as he did so. Bayard had stood to make a speech but Merlin paid the words no mind, focused as he was on the glimmer of white that had just disappeared around the door. Feeling his connection to Arthur begin to twinge, Merlin hoped the other angel had not travelled too far. Slipping through the door, Merlin felt the breathe choke in his throat as he came face to face with one of the most beautiful angels Merlin had ever seen. Torch light sank into rich, dark hair and warmed limbs as white as ice.   
  
The woman was smiling and something about the smile seemed familiar. There was a bitter edge beneath the cupids bow and a sense of warning twinged in Merlin’s mind. It felt like a symphony with a broken cord – a single flaw that pervaded and warped and undermined the beauty of the whole. Merlin knew the sound – if only he could place it. Laughing, the other angel made a motion with her hand and it was as though a veil had been lifted from Merlin’s eyes.  
  
“Nimueh.” Merlin breathed.  
  
Nimueh laughed, and Merlin felt panic dig its nails into his mind. About to yell for Gwen, he was stalled by Nimueh speaking. “Calm yourself, Merlin. I swear, by all that is Holy, I will not raise a hand to any mortal on this night.” Merlin felt the oath witnessed by the heavens and relaxed slightly, releasing the half formed words and lances of raw power that had been forming in his mind.  
  
“Why are you here?” He asked wary; Nimueh may have sworn to harm no mortals but she had made no such oath to refrain from harming  _him_.   
  
“I was welcome in these halls once.” Nimueh told him. “I once stood behind the shoulder of the King.” There was the taste of bitter memory to her words. Merlin scoffed at the idea that Nimueh had the right to feel any anger over what she had lost.  
  
“You fell from Grace long ago.” He spat at her, “You were banished from the heavens and commanded  _never_  to return; just as you were forbidden from setting wing or foot in this part of the mortal realms.”  
  
“A command given by those I no longer serve.” Nimueh hissed. Power began to crackle in the air, Nimueh’s hair rose in a non-existent breeze and Merlin knew his eyes had bled to gold.   
  
“Leave.”  
  
Nimueh’s lips curved in a mocking smile. “You are not strong enough to make me.”  
  
Merlin took a steadying breath. “This is Holy Ground.” He said. “You are not welcome here.” It was a long shot, but the stones hummed in answer to his call – warm with the memory of Holy Water being sprinkled on the ground; of the blessing that was given to the stronghold of the realm. Merlin could feel the power he had invoked rising and knew Nimueh did too. With a snarl of defiance she disappeared in a storm of her own fury, leaving in her wake an imprint of discord that Merlin knew would linger for days on end.   
  
Merlin felt tired and spent. Wings dragging, he returned slowly to Arthur’s side. The Prince seemed to sense something was wrong, for he stretched out his hand to beckon Merlin closer, disguising the action as a call for more wine. Merlin wilfully misunderstood the gesture and dropped himself directly into Arthur’s lap, curling up and resting his head on the Prince’s shoulder. Arthur was tense beneath him, obviously uncomfortable – but Merlin could not summon the energy to care. Letting his wings droop wearily to the floor, Merlin waited patiently for Arthur to relax. He did so, gradually, and remained that way until Merlin felt he had derived all the comfort he could from the situation and returned to standing on his own two feet.   
  
***  
  
The moon had already begun to set when Merlin followed a yawning Arthur to his chambers. He had never realised just how  _long_  diplomatic banquets could last. A servant was trailing along behind Arthur, bearing what was apparently a gift from Bayard. Merlin had not seen inside it, but Arthur seemed happy enough so no doubt it was something sharp and pointy. His suspicions were confirmed when, after dismissing the servant, Arthur whipped the lid from the box to reveal a single, intricately carved dagger. Merlin glanced at it with mild disinterest. Such a small piece of metal did not warrant such child-like excitement, however endearing it was to see Arthur behave in such a manner.  
  
“You can play with your toys tomorrow, Arthur.” Merlin said, chuckling as Arthur laid the dagger back down with reverence. Merlin frowned, for a moment he had thought he had felt the dagger pulse with evil, but the next second the sensation was gone. As Arthur readied himself for bed, Merlin scowled at the weapon – as though determined to expel any hidden daemons by the force of his gaze alone. When the dagger remained benign, Merlin attributed the sensation to latent misgivings over Nimueh’s visit. He assumed his customary perch on the end of Arthur’s bed and rested his back against one of the bedposts. Arthur eyed him for a moment and then sighed.  
  
“Come on,” he said, drawing back the covers on the other side of the bed, “get in.”  
  
Merlin blinked. “Huh?”  
  
“Get in.” Arthur repeated. “You’ve been looking like a wild pig gored your favourite hunting hound since the feast, and I highly doubt a melancholy angel will make an effective guardian, so get in.” Then, as though realising such concern was perhaps improper in a prince, he added, “Besides, the closer you are, the easier it will be to protect me.”  
  
Merlin smiled, accepting the gesture for what it was. Carefully, he crawled over the blankets until he was settled by the headboard and then set about wiggling beneath the covers. Arthur sighed.  
  
“Do you always squirm so?” He demanded, huffing in indignation when Merlin inadvertently kicked him in the shin.  
  
“I’ve never shared a bed before,” Merlin confessed, “so I wouldn’t know.” Arthur simply snorted in response.  
  
Turning on his side, Merlin hesitated. The bed was large – he could easily spend the night without touching Arthur once if he chose.  
  
“Oh for heaven’s sake.” Arthur muttered. Merlin did not have time to question what had prompted the remark before a long arm snaked out and drew him into the burrow of warmth created by Arthur’s body. They weren’t quite touching, but there was less than a hand span’s air between them, and Merlin could hear Arthur’s heart beating in his chest.   
  
The sound was rhythmic, soothing, a deep steady pulse. Merlin realised with astonishment that the Prince’s heartbeat perfectly matched his own. With a smile, Merlin huddled further into the warmth and closed his eyes, listening to Arthur’s easy breathing.   
  
The last thought Merlin remembered before drifting off to sleep was,  _This is nice_.


	6. Chapter 5

“Merlin. Mer-lin.”   
  
Merlin started awake with a gasp. The room was dark, deeper patches of shadow denoting furniture and other objects. Casting about for the source of the voice that had woken him, Merlin saw nothing. Alert, he scrambled from the bed, disentangling Arthur’s fingers from his wings and resolutely ignoring the stomach clenching sense of loss that accompanied the action. He had just shimmied out of bed and stumbled to his feet when his boss existed at the foot of Arthur’s bed. Merlin had the disconcerting feeling that the other angel had been there all the time. The dominion looked pointedly at the figure of the Prince sprawled between the sheets and the angel shaped dip in the mattress next to him. Merlin gulped. He was tempted to say it wasn’t what it looked like, but he never had been a very good liar.  
  
“The time will come for Arthur to know his destiny, Merlin, but that time is not now.”  
  
Merlin blinked. “I – er – hadn’t been planning on telling him, actually.”  
  
The other angel rustled his wings and fixed Merlin with a look that said he thought Merlin was being deliberately stupid. “As it is between Master and Maid so too will it be between you and Arthur.” The dominion intoned gravely. “You are but one half of a coin.”  
  
“Wait,” Merlin protested, “are you telling me I’m supposed to be Arthur’s servant.”  
  
His boss chuckled. “There are many ways to serve, Merlin.” Laughter echoed in the room as the Dominion faded from existence, leaving Merlin to huddle at the end of the bed and wonder what it all meant. It was only when Arthur, lost to sleep and dreaming, reached for the space where Merlin had lain, that he crawled back beneath the covers and settled down beside the Prince.  
  
***  
Merlin snorted in disgust. The day had been filled with duels and jousting – typical for a tourney Gwen assured him – but utterly barbaric in Merlin’s opinion. Arthur had won every bout he fought and now seemed to be riding a natural high born from adrenaline and the people’s cheers. Though Merlin despised the needless battle, he could not begrudge the people of Camelot their love for the Prince. Even Merlin had been moved to cheering at the sight of Arthur shining in gleaming mail and hauberk, proudly bearing the Pedragon crest upon his chest.   
  
Unfortunately, there seemed to be certain people in the castle that loved Arthur just that bit more, than was decent. One serving maid in particular had been making doe eyes at Arthur even since he entered the feasting hall and in Merlin’s opinion she was showing far too much cleavage. Arthur however, seemed to disagree. He had given the maid more than one appreciative glance as the feast wore on, and if her giggles were anything to go by it seemed as though neither Prince nor maid would be sleeping alone tonight. Merlin felt the need to kick something, spitefully. He made an heroic effort to stay behind when Arthur retired to his chambers, but for all his flapping and flailing the bond that tied him to Arthur dragged him backwards down the hallway in the Prince’s wake.  
  
Upon reaching the Prince’s chambers, Merlin tried to make his discomfort with the situation known, but Arthur was to preoccupied with examining the serving maid’s tonsils to notice. Merlin wondered if this was Arthur’s way of exacting revenge (Merlin had spent a good part of the morning mocking the code of chivalry). A smirk from the Prince, when Merlin made a, rather shrill, noise of protest, told Merlin that Arthur knew  _exactly_  what he was doing. Arthur very slowly began to unlace the girl’s corset, keeping his eyes on Merlin the whole time. Merlin scowled. If Arthur wanted to play dirty – fine. He could be as dirty as the best of them. The grin that spread across his face seemed to stall Arthur for a moment and Merlin saw the exact moment the Prince realised that Merlin was no longer objecting to the display. Edging closer, Merlin position himself just behind Arthur’s ear, whispering lewd comments and offering a running commentary as Arthur tried wilfully to ignore him. With deft hands, Arthur loosened the maid’s laces enough that he could begin slip her dress down her shoulders. Merlin huffed. Apparently, his tactic was not having as great an impact as he had hoped.  
  
Clearing his throat, Merlin straightened, lacing his hands behind his back, and in his most regal and heavenly voice began to recite a psalm. Arthur froze. Merlin’s presence had left him in a quandary. He could not order Merlin to be quiet, close his eyes, or turn around without appearing mad crazy to the serving maid. But he was beginning to realise that if he didn’t, he was going to end up tumbling the girl in the presence of a heavenly messenger.   
  
Merlin chuckled gleefully to himself. He could practically  _see_  the cogs turning in Arthur’s mind. Humming with vindictive pleasure, he rustled his rings very deliberately just as the serving maid begged Arthur’s to continue his ministrations. To Merlin’s dismay, however, he was denied the pleasure of seeing what Arthur would have done, by a rap on the door. Arthur let the girl go abruptly, and she scrambled back into her clothes quickly.   
  
“Enter.” Arthur called, and the maid busied herself with straightening imaginery creases from the bed sheets.  
  
A young man bearing the livery of the Night Watch, entered the room. “Sire.” He bowed, “His Majesty wishes you to attend him in the council chambers. A messenger has just arrived from Goatsridge and begs an audience.”  
  
“Very well.” Arthur nodded, dismissing both watchman and maid as he snatched his doublet from the back of the chair. Sparing a glance for Merlin, the Prince walked swiftly from the room, footfalls echoing in the silent corridors.  
  
***  
  
Merlin hovered nervously between Arthur and the King. The messenger that had ridden through the night to reach Camelot brought a report of a monster terrorising the trading town of Goatsridge. The village was one of the main producers of fine wool in the kingdom, and Camelot could ill afford the loss the revenue that would occur if people abandoned the township.  
  
“What did the creature look like?” Uther asked, fist curled tight around the arm of his throne.  
  
“Like a huge dog,” the messenger replied, “only it stood twice as high as a man. And it had three heads, each with blood red eyes. ”  
  
“A Cerberus.” Merlin whispered, just as a man standing to Uther’s right said the same thing. He was an elderly gentleman, with a main of white hair, accompanied by the smell of herbs and salve that marked him as the court physician.  
  
“It is a creature of hell.” The man explained, as Merlin verified the statements in Arthur’s ear. “One of the guardians of the gates. It would not have appeared on Earth of its own accord. I fear this is the work of evil sorcery.”  
  
“No mortal sorcerer could summon the creature.” Merlin whispered, breath hot against Arthur’s ear. “Only the denizens of hell themselves, may send the creature forward. Delay your father for the time being. I will find Gwen and she will send a message to the Dominions. They will send an Arch Angel to repell the Cerberus back to hell.”  
  
Arthur bobbed his head once, in assent, and Merlin breathed a sigh of relief.  
  
“I will ride out immediately father.”  
  
“ _What_?” Merlin yelped. “Did you not just listen to a word I said?” But Arthur ignored him, waiting only for his father’s approval before calling for his armour and for a horse to be saddled.  
  
“And rouse Sir Edgar and Sir Owain.” Arthur instructed as he settled a gauntlet over his wrist. Merlin continued to squawk his protests in Arthur’s face, but the Prince ignored him. Merlin flapped his wings violently and even tried pulling on Arthur’s hair to get him to pay attention but Uther’s heir simply marched purposefully to the stables, not even deigning to respond. Merlin was quite out of breathe by the time the two knights joined them and so gave up trying to reason with Arthur. No doubt the Prince was acting out of some misguided sense of loyalty to his kingdom, but surely he could see this was the sort of thing best handled by those equipped to deal with it? The war between heaven and hell had raged for centuries. The dispelling of a Cerberus would barely be considered a skirmish. Settling himself behind Arthur’s saddle, Merlin waited for the Prince to mount. Arthur did so, shifting uncomfortably when Merlin slumped heavily against his back.  
  
“ _Merlin_.” He hissed under his breath, shrugging his shoulders in an attempt to dislodge his guardian angel.  
  
“I’ll fly in a bit Arthur, I’m tired.” Merlin complained, closing his eyes as beneath him, Arthur’s horse lurched into motion. As the rhythm of the hooves escalated from a walk to a trot, Merlin thought,  _I hope mortal weapons will be enough to harm this creature._


	7. Chapter 6

The sun was already high in the sky by the time they reached Goatsridge. Merlin had slipped from the saddle sometime before dawn and flown alongside the party. Arthur had turned his head to watch the flight until Edgar had asked what it was that so caught Arthur’s attention. From that point on, Merlin had flown behind Arthur so that the Prince would not be tempted to watch the glide of Merlin’s wings.  
  
The residents of Goatsridge were huddled in their homes when Arthur and his knights approached. The headman pointed to the woods behind the town, wishing the Prince God’s speed, before hurrying back to his wife and children. As Arthur turned his horse towards the woods, three hellish howls tore through the air.   
  
“The tales say that such creatures only hunt at night – that people are safe during the day.” Arthur murmured as Merlin drew level with him.  
  
Merlin raised a single eyebrow and gave Arthur a look. “What grown man would want to admit he was afraid of the noon-day sun?” He asked, “Far easier to be frightened of the dark.” Arthur grunted, and kicked his horse into a trot. The beast snorted and strained against the bit, as the stench of blood and old death flooded its nostril, but it was an animal trained for war and did not bolt. Merlin had to admit he was impressed. At the base of the hill that led to the woods, Arthur dismounted and tied his horse to a tree. Edgar and Owain followed suit, whilst Merlin ran an agitated hand down the flank of Arthur’s stallion. Arthur met his gaze over the horses back before calling for the nights to follow him.  
  
They had barely reached the edge of the wood, when the ground trembled beneath their feet and a low growl shook the trees. The Cerberus padded into the light, maws wide and gaping, teeth gnashing in a snarl. Its claws tore through the roots of trees until its fur was heavy and matted with sap. Merlin could easily imagine the liquid to be blood. Arthur and his knights drew their swords. Merlin fluttered anxiously to the side, desperate to defend the Prince but unsure if it was wise. None could see him but Arthur. And were he to suddenly pull the Prince through the air, sorcery would be to blame. At best, Merlin thought, the knights would accuse each other. At worst, they would think the Prince himself to blame. And besides, the heavens might be watching. It did not occur to Merlin that the knights of Camelot would readily overlook such things if it meant the life of their Prince, or that the Dominions did not spend their days spying on their underlings.  
  
The Cerberus sniffed the air. Its six nostrils snuffling wetly as it took in the scent of men. Suddenly, its left head snapped violently, and Merlin realised with horror that it had caught his scent. His gaze caught Arthur’s and with a cry the Prince gave the order to charge. Three swords swung at three separate heads and the Cerberus’ attention was diverted. Edgar landed one true blow, before the head Owain had been sparring with, ducked beneath his guard and knocked Edgar off his feet. The knight lay prone and Merlin raced across to check his pulse, heaving a sigh of relief when he felt the man still breathing. Arthur gave a shout and Merlin turned in time to see a rainbow of blood arc through the air as the Cerberus tore at the meet of Arthur’s shoulder. Owain attempted the aid the Prince but a paw, larger than Merlin himself, swept him into the trunk of a tree where he lay unmoving.   
  
Arthur was desperately trying to keep his sword raised, but he was losing blood fast and his defence was failing. Nimbly, he rolled away from the beast’s attack, but Merlin could tell the manoeuvre had cost him dearly. He swayed on his feet, blinking away the darkness at the edge of his vision. The Cerberus raised a snarling head, and Merlin swept forward, carrying the Prince to safety. The beast howled and raged, eyes burning with hellish fire. It charged, and Merlin forgot to care if either Edgar or Owain were watching; if he was about to risk the Dominions’ wrath. Keeping one arm wrapped around his charge, Merlin raised the other, speaking words in a tongue long forgotten. The magic burnt across his tongue and seared his throat, spilling from his lips in a scalding wave of gold. The Cerberus howled as it was enveloped in light, and Merlin dimly heard Arthur gasp. He tried to halt the spell, to bring the magic back inside his skin, but it was as though a flood had been unleashed. Life and death and hope and fear pulsed within his veins. His heart thrummed faster than any mortal could withstand as his eyes bled to liquid gold. With a yell, Merlin shoved the remained of the spell from his body. The sudden silence was deafening, and Merlin felt himself drowning in a sea of quiet. His ears roared, and Merlin felt the world spin in a stream of colour and light. He only had a moment to twist his body so that he was between Arthur and the ground, before he fainted and fell to Earth.  
  
***  
  
Arthur was slumped against a wall, sipping from a goblet when Merlin regained consciousness. He felt weak and drained after the expenditure of too much magic and his left wing throbbed sharply. How had he come to be lying face down on an unfamiliar bed? Hissing in pain, Merlin raised his head to look around the room. He caught Arthur’s gaze, and the Prince instantly started towards him. The blonde favoured his right shoulder as he moved across the room, and Merlin watched in concern as Arthur settled himself upon the bed. The moment other man was within reach, Merlin ran his fingers across the crude bandage wrapped around Arthur’s shoulder. He felt a lead wait settle in the pit of his stomach; he had failed to protect his charge.  
  
“How are you feeling?” Arthur asked quietly, but Merlin found he could not answer. His throat felt dry and tight; he realised his hand was trembling. Arthur reached up and swiped his thumb across Merlin’s cheek. When he withdrew, his thumb was wet with Merlin’s tears.  
  
“I’m alright you know.” Arthur said, turning Merlin’s chin so the angel was looking him in the eye. Merlin nodded, blinking rapidly to dispel his tears. Arthur shook his head with affectionate incredulity. “You really are a big  _girl_ , aren’t you, Merlin?”  
  
Merlin chuckled wetly and drew Arthur down beside him, burying his face into Arthur’s hip as soon as the Prince had sat down. Arthur went rigid with shock for a moment, before patting Merlin awkwardly on the head. Merlin curled his fingers in Arthur’s breeches and tried very hard not to think about how close he had come to failing his charge in the worst possible way. Arthur hands eventually tangled themselves in Merlin’s hair. Merlin breathed long and deep, glorying in the thrum of blood he could feel beneath Arthur’s skin and the sound of the Princes breathing.   
  
“Go to sleep, Merlin.” Arthur instructed, his hand stroking idly through Merlin’s hair. Merlin found he was powerless to disobey.  
  
***  
  
When Merlin woke again, it was full dark outside. The smell of food and the goblets lying on the table at one end of the room told Merlin that Arthur had eaten, and in the company of at least two other people – most likely his knights. They were alright then, that was a relief. Arthur himself was curled uncomfortably atop the sheets. He had left Merlin sprawled across most of the bed, and taken the remaining corner of himself. The Prince looked so young, knees tucked up to his chest and head lolling to one side as he slept. Waving one hand, Merlin gently levitated his charge into the centre of the bed, shifting until he was curled into the Prince’s side.   
  
Merlin made to settle his wings over the both of them, only to be brought up short as his left refused to move. Glancing over his shoulder, Merlin felt something warm blossom in his chest. Slats of wood and soft linen were braced against the feathers; Arthur had splinted his wing. Merlin recognised the linen as belonging to one of Arthur’s shirts. The Prince must have taken the time to tend to the injury himself. On impulse, Merlin reached up and placed a soft, chaste kiss against Arthur’s lips. He was so lost in the sensation that he did not notice Arthur wake. It was only when Arthur pulled away, looking at him with wide blue eyes that Merlin realised what was happening.  
  
 _What have I done?_  He thought.


	8. Chapter 7

Merlin shot backwards away from Arthur.  
  
“Sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He tumbled from the bed in a flurry of wings and knees, landing painfully on his injured side. He yelped with pain, clutching a hand to his shoulder and folding his one good wing around himself as a shield. Merlin stayed huddled in the blanket of feathers, cursing himself for having been so stupid. He could hear Arthur lying on the bed, breathing slighting increased. Merlin winced at the thought of the Prince’s anger. Stroking a hand down the inside of his wing, the angel wondered what he could do to make this better. Perhaps if he promised never to do such a thing again – to never even speak of it? Maybe that would work.   
  
Cautiously, Merlin furled his wing and peeked up at where Arthur was still lying motionless on the bed. There were two spots of colour high on his cheeks, and Merlin could see the Prince’s body vibrating with tension. He cringed.  
  
“I won’t do it again.” Merlin promised. “We can just forget all about it if you like.”   
  
Arthur said nothing for a long while; Merlin chewed the inside of his cheek nervously. “Very well.” The Prince said at last. “And it will never happen again?”  
  
“Never.” Merlin assured him fervently. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I never would have done such a thing if I had been in my right mind. Must have been the fall. Sorry.”  
  
“Not at all.” Arthur said, but his voice was thick and strained and Merlin thought he must be barely keeping his anger in check.  
  
“You go back to sleep.” Merlin said. “I’ve slept enough, I’ll keep watch.” There was nothing much to keep watch for, but Merlin needed an excuse not to get back in the bed, and this seemed as good as any. Arthur nodded mutely and pulled the covers back over himself. Merlin took a seat by the only window in the room and gazed out over the sleeping town. Stars winked overhead and Merlin thought he could almost  _feel_  their disapproval.  
  
“I’m sorry.” Merlin whispered beneath his breath. “I’m so sorry.” Bowing his face to his knees, Merlin hid the tears that slid slowly down his cheeks. Outside, it began to rain.  
  
oOo  
  
Uther welcomed the returning knights with royal pride and recognition. A banquet was announced to celebrate their triumph and Arthur, naturally, was the guest of honour. Merlin remained silent throughout the preparations, as the Prince bathed and changed and met with his father. Gwen found him when Morgana came to speak to Arthur, but Merlin found it impossible to tell her what had happened. He only shook his head and returned to watching Arthur interact with the King’s ward. Several times, he felt the oddest sensation when Morgana cast her gaze around the room – it seemed almost as though she were searching for something.  
  
“I trust Gaius’ latest remedy is working?” Arthur said, once the pleasant formalities were out of the way. “You certainly seem better rested than the last time we spoke.”  
  
Morgana smiled, and Gwen muttered in Merlin’s ear that it was rare to see son and ward interacting so pleasantly. “I am. I still dream but that is the curse of all human beings I fear. But Gaius’ potion has dispelled most of the nightmares.”  
  
“And what is it that women dream?” Arthur asked, and Merlin could tell from the smirk on the Prince’s face that he was about to say something that would no doubt result in Morgana unleashing her wit upon him. “Lace and sewing, perhaps? Or the plans for the new herb garden? Surely there can be nothing of much importance in your mind.” The remark was obviously designed to initiate a heated debate, and Merlin wondered if Arthur did not take some form of pleasure in the verbal sparring he conducted with Morgana. But the lady, for all Arthur’s comments should have provoked her ire, simply bit her lip and stared out the window.  
  
“I dream of angels.” She said quietly. “Beautiful creatures, surrounded by warmth and light, watching over the castle and this kingdom. And sometimes, when I am alone in my room, or have had a very trying day, I feel as though – maybe – one of those angels was with me. My own personal guardian.” Morgana’s lips twisted and she smiled bitterly. “You must think me mad.”  
  
Arthur had grown very still when Morgana first spoke the word ‘angel’, eyes flicking to the space where Merlin hovered. In a rare show of affection, Arthur leaned forward and took one of Morgana’s hands between his own. “I don’t think you’re mad, Morgana. A little unladylike at times, perhaps, but never mad.”  
  
Morgana laughed, and swatted Arthur for his comment; the atmosphere in the room lightened considerably. But Merlin could see, in the way the skin around Morgana’s eyes was still strained, that she was not as comforted by Arthur’s words as he would have her be.   
  
A handmaiden came to help Morgana prepare for the banquet, and the lady excused herself politely. Gwen went with her, offering Merlin a small smile and a worried glance in parting. Merlin waved a hand in an attempt to convey that his mood was nothing to worry about, and went back to watching Arthur. The Prince ignored him, choosing instead to stare out of his window. Merlin wondered what it was Arthur saw when he surveyed his kingdom. Did he, like Merlin, see a Kingdom that would prosper under a just and powerful king? Did he see how glorious Camelot would be under his rule? Biting his lip, Merlin drifted over until he was a hand’s space away from Arthur’s shoulder. He waited, nervous, to see if Arthur would accept his presence or turn him away. Arthur shifted to make room for Merlin at the window and the angel sighed in relief. The Prince had accepted his apology.  
  
oOo  
  
Merlin sighed as watched Arthur harass his knights on the training field. It wasn’t that he did not enjoy the sight of Arthur working up a sweat – it was just that he sympathised with those the Prince chose as his sparring partner. Merlin imagined that duelling with Arthur probably felt much the same as poking a bear with a stick and waiting for it to maul you. Not that he would object to being mauled by Arthur –   
  
Merlin slammed the door on that train of thought and focused his attention on the way Sir Bedivere’s cloak shifted in the breeze. His relationship with the Prince had only just returned to normal and he wasn’t about to jeopardise it. Arthur turned his head, just at the same time as Merlin, and their gaze met. Merlin felt his cheeks heat and Arthur quickly redirected his gaze elsewhere. So much for things being normal, then.   
  
Laughter spilled out across the training ground, and Merlin turned to locate the source. The Lady Morgana was walking across the lawn with a number of noble women, and Merlin noticed from the corner of his eye that several of the knights had lowered their weapons to stare. He smiled and turned back around. Arthur was glaring at him heatedly, and Merlin flushed. He was at a loss as to what he had done to anger the Prince this time, unless it was latent anger about any number of things about Merlin that seemed to annoy his charge. Sulkily, Merlin thought back to how Arthur had had the nerve to berate him for standing by the window. He did  _not_  stand there in the hopes of appearing ethereal and angelic. What a ridiculous thing to say. He, like most people, just happened to like watching the sun rise and set.   
  
Arthur called a halt to the drills, and the knights trudged back to the castle wearily. Arthur beckoned a squire over and handed the boy his sword and armour.   
  
“Take them to my chambers, and have someone draw a bath.”   
  
Merlin stood and stretched, and drifted over to accompany the Prince back to the castle. He noticed that Arthur was holding his right arm rather stiffly, and opened his mouth to scold his charge for not giving himself the proper time to heal.  
  
Arthur caught the look and scowled. “Don’t say it.” He warned, striding into his chambers with a distinct air of frustration. Merlin shut his mouth with an audible click and followed in annoyance.   
  
“If you would just listen to me when I tell you things.” He began, hovering beside Arthur’s head as the Prince’s manservant stripped him of his clothes.  
  
Arthur scowled and snapped, “Oh do be quiet Merlin.” Wincing when he felt the manservant start in surprise.  
  
“Sire?” The boy asked timidly, hands fisted in the folds of Arthur’s tunic.  
  
“Not you.” Arthur said flustered. “I was - oh never mind. Get out, I can undress myself.” The boy bowed hurriedly and raced from the room, letting the door slam shut behind him. Merlin settled himself smugly upon Arthur’s table and preened.  
  
“ _That_  wasn’t very polite.” He said, making a point of averting his gaze as Arthur removed his breeches and sank into the hot water waiting for him.  
  
Arthur growled, but the act lost some of its threat when the growl became a groan of appreciation at the temperature of the water. Merlin swiftly hauled his mind out of the gutter.  
  
“I’m just saying –” he proffered, as Arthur began to scrub the sweat from his skin. “He’s only a boy and –”  
  
“Fine, fine. I’ll apologise to him this evening – will that please you?” Arthur demanded, glaring at Merlin through his fringe. Merlin nodded, and drew lazy patterns of the tabletop with a glowing finger. Arthur huffed and reached for the pitcher of water beside the tub before breaking off with a gasp.  
  
Merlin was at his side in an instant, eyes checking everywhere for the slightest hint of damage. The source of the problem became clear when Arthur raised a hand to knead at the knotted muscles of his shoulder. It was impossible for him to get the proper angle and Merlin knew that the Prince would simply be in a foul temper if it was not tended to. With the manservant dismissed he could only see one course of action.  
  
Tentatively, Merlin brushed Arthur’s hand away with his own, and gently worked his fingers into the flesh of Arthur’s shoulder. The Prince tensed at the first touch, but swiftly relented under the pressure. Merlin pressed his thumbs into the skin and let warmth flow into the abused muscles. Arthur groaned in relief and let his head fall against his chest. Merlin’s eyes followed the motion before swiftly jerking back up. Water did not hide much. Too soon for Merlin’s liking, Arthur’s shoulder became loose and pliant beneath his fingers – the muscle regaining its usual mobility. Merlin reluctantly resumed his seat on the table and determinedly did not watch as the Prince finished his bath.  
  
As the sound of splashing water filled the room, Merlin thought,  _How many question will Gwen ask, if I ask her to help me find a cold bath?_


	9. Chapter 8

Snow lay thick and heavy across the castle and its courtyard. Beyond the walls, people huddled in their homes, fingers clenching with cold and toes long devoid of all feeling. In Arthur’s rooms a fire roared. Flames leapt and danced in the hearth, crackling with fiendish glee as they licked the chimney.   
  
Arthur tipped back the last of the wine in his goblet and dropped it back to the table with a clatter. Merlin turned from his position at the window, startled.   
  
“I want to go riding.” Arthur announced.   
  
Merlin let his mouth fall open in amazement. “You want to go riding? In  _that_?” He gestured at the scene outside the casement. Arthur smiled. Merlin narrowed his eyes. “Just how much have you had to drink anyway?”  
  
“Not enough that I can’t ride.” Arthur answered blithely. Scraping his chair back, he walked towards the door. “Well, come on then Merlin.”  
  
Merlin folded his arms sulkily. “No.”  
  
Arthur smirked, “Merlin, we all know how you can’t  _stand_  to be parted with me, so if I want to go, you have to follow.”  
  
“Prat.” Merlin said mutinously, but he let himself be dragged from the warmth of the room all the same.  
  
oOo  
  
“Hurry up, Merlin.” Arthur called. Merlin laughed and angled his wings to fly faster. Arthur pressed his heels to his stallion’s flanks and raced ahead. Arthur’s stallion had snorted at the cold when first led from his stables, but his master’s joviality was contagious and Merlin had whispered pretty nonsense into his ear whilst Arthur had been busy with the saddle. Earlier disagreements forgotten, Prince and angel now played as though they were youngsters being allowed out into their first snowfall.  
  
Snow fluttered down, scattering upon Merlin’s hair only to be whipped away again as the angel streamed through the air currents after his prince. Arthur’s nose and cheeks were pink with the cold but he was smiling and looking at Merlin as though his guardian had done something surprising and oddly welcomed. Merlin dove beside Arthur’s saddle, scooping up a handful of snow and attempting to shove it down the back of Arthur’s tunic. The blonde hastily swung sideways in the saddle, clinging to the horse with only his knees as Merlin’s snowball dropped ineffectually onto the stallion’s rump. The horse snorted loudly at the indignity and Arthur righted himself, laughing at the disgruntled expression on Merlin’s face.  
  
Pulling the horse to a stop, Arthur leapt nimbly from the saddle, spreading his arms in a clear invitation for Merlin to fight him equally. Huffing, Merlin landed on the snow, shifting a bit as the cold made itself known against his bare feet. He circled Arthur warily, not bothering to sink into a fighter’s crouch to match the prince’s stance. Suddenly, Arthur straightened, eyes widening at a sight over Merlin’s shoulder. The angel spun, hands raising in defence against an opponent…who was not there. Puzzled, Merlin dropped his hands back to his side and turned back to face the prince, right at the moment Arthur’s weight barrelled into him, knocking them both to the ground.   
  
"Oof." Merlin’s breath left him in a rush as Arthur’s heat pressed against his chest. Arthur laughed, face alight and open, eyes shining with sheer, unadulterated joy and Merlin’s breath caught in his throat. Tentatively, he reached one hand up and brushed a lock of hair from Arthur’s face. The prince froze, hands braced either side of Merlin’s head and face only inches away. He watched the angel with something akin to fear in his eyes. Merlin felt bile begin tp spill up his throat, disgusted with himself, he lowered his hand again and turned his head away. A moment later Arthur had levered himself off Merlin and remounted.  
  
“We’ll go a little further,” he called, nudging his stallion towards the tree line, “then turn back before dark.”  
  
Merlin stayed sprawled upon the snow, cursing himself, until his connection to Arthur yanked him to his feet and on his way.  
  
oOo  
  
The sky was beginning to darken in the east, and the temperature had already sunk a further two degrees. Merlin shivered and bundled his wings tight about his frame, trusting Arthur's reflexes to keep him on the horse should Merlin start to fall. He’d point blank refused to walk or fly when Arthur entered the deeper woods and so the prince had grudgingly allowed Merlin to perch before the saddle horn, legs resting just inside Arthur’s. Ahead of them, Merlin could see a clearing, a small ring of trees almost entirely lost to shadow. As they drew nearer, the young angel felt a thread of power sing across the wind. There was something  _ancient_  in that clearing, something… _unkind_.  
  
“Arthur –” Merlin began, one hand snaking out to grip Arthur’s forearm.   
  
“Relax, Merlin.” Arthur interrupted. When Merlin glanced back the prince’s gaze was focused on the clearing. Only the light grip he kept on Merlin’s waist assured the angel that the prince was still aware of his surrounding's. Sliding his hand from Merlin’s hip, Arthur dismounted, gathering the reigns with one hand. Merlin made to follow suit but a shake of the prince’s head stopped him. He settled back into the saddle unhappily, knuckled white where they gripped the horse's mane.  
  
Arthur led his mount into the clearing, ignoring the way Merlin shifted nervously. The grove was dark, but not impenetrably so. Squinting, Arthur could just make out a mound, a boudler of some description. Merlin obviously saw it at the same time because he was suddenly blocking Arthur’s path, wings spread and hands splayed across his charge’s chest.  
  
“Arthur, I really don’t think you should do this.” Merlin said, words muffled as he gazed over his shoulder into the darkness. As he spoke, a faint blue light began to pulse upon the mound. The glow beat in time to Arthur’s heart and he felt his feet moving forward even as Merlin desperately tried to hold him in place. Without looking at the angel, Arthur brushed Merlin’s hands aside, gaze and body drawn towards the sword now clearly embedded in the moss covered rock. It was beautiful. The blue light sank into the blade, highlighting the ancient runes etched into the steel. The hilt was intricately carved, and Arthur  _knew_  that if he wrapped his hand around that cool metal, it would fit perfectly into his palm. Beside him, Merlin was hissing violently in his ear, tugging on his arm; the angel’s fear of the weapon was almost palpable. But all Arthur could see was the beauty of the sword. Ignoring Merlin’s protests, he reached out a hand and wrapped his fingers around the hilt. Light sang in his veins, infusing his blood with an almost feral joy. This was a sword that would deliver him to greatness. No mortal man could defeat him whilst he bore this blade.   
  
He was vaguely aware of Merlin moving away from him, of the angel’s hands falling down and away; of a loss of warmth as his guardian retreated. Something vicious and bitter twisted in Arthur’s belly and with a defiant pull he dragged the sword from its stone prison. The woods seemed to scream in triumph as he did so, a cacophony of vindication drowning all other sounds. Turning, Arthur saw Merlin huddled against the stallion, wings drawn around the both of them like a protective shield.  
  
“Are you done now?” Merlin demanded. “Can we go?”  
  
Arthur strapped his old sword to the saddle bags and sheathed the new one at his waist. Swinging up, he held a hand down for Merlin to clamber up before him.  
  
“I’ll walk.” The angel said shortly, moving to stand at Arthur’s right him. On his left, Arthur felt the sword hum smugly.  
  
oOo  
  
The fire had almost died by the time they returned to Arthur’s chambers. The servants gave a relieved sigh when they saw Arthur, scurrying to build up the fire and fetch food and wine for the prince. Uther shot a scowl in his son’s direction, but refrained from yet another lecture. He could hardly fault his son for a few hours excursion – for all that the sky grew dark early at this time of year.   
  
Settling himself before the fire, Arthur drew his new blade from its sheath. The steel still flickered with an unearthly blue light.   
  
“Merlin look,” Arthur said, rising from his seat to where his guardian sat perched beside the casement. “Have you ever seen such craftsmanship? I defy even Heaven itself to make such a blade.” His voice was light and joking, but Merlin turned on him with a snarl, face thin and taught with rage.  
  
“Have a care what you say, Arthur Pendragon.” Merlin breathed, wings snapping open as the fire cracked like a whip in the hearth. “Heaven would never have been so foolish as to forge that blade. You have no idea what it is you have unleashed.” In a blur of motion he had snatched the sword from Arthur’s hand and rammed it back into his sheath. The faintest smell of burning meat was carried on the wind.  
  
Arthur blinked; he was no longer looking at Merlin. Instead place saw an  _angel_ ; a creature of power and light. Flames seemed to race across the rims of Merlin’s wings, his eyes bled gold and power seemed to spill from between his lips. For a moment Arthur trembled, awed and frightened, forced to acknowledge what he had been reluctant to see: Merlin was no mortal – it was foolish to treat him as one. On instinct Arthur wrapped his hand around the hilt of his sword. As he did so, he was filled with a wave of resentment. He was the heir to a kingdom – upon his coronation he would rule with all the authority of devine right. Who was  _Mer_ lin to presume to instruct him.  
  
With a snarl, Arthur whipped the blade from the sheath. At the same time, Merlin launched himself to the side, spinning in mid-air and tumbling towards the centre of the room, giving himself more space in which to manoeuvre. Merlin stared at the prince wide-eyed, chest heaving, heart racing at the sight of the blue-edged blade.  
  
“Arthur – I really think you should let go of that sword now.”   
  
Arthur glared mutinously and swung his sword in a swift reverse cut, aiming for the space beneath Merlin’s wings; a warning. The sword sung an ugly tune, vibrating with a power that smelt of heat and brimstone, and stank of Nimueh. Merlin sent out a desperate plea for Gwen, hoping she would fetch any Dominion listening, before focusing his attention back on the prince.   
  
“Arthur, you’re not yourself. You have to stop.” His hands stayed clenched in fists against his sides. He could not use magic against Arthur. Not when –   
  
“Don’t tell me what to do, Merlin.” Arthur said. He jabbed sharply to the left and Merlin dodged, realising too late that Arthur had been feigning. The sword shrieked in victory as it whistled through the air, slicing at the space between the two young men. Merlin could only watch – paralysed – as it cut through the air over both their hearts. There was a sickening crack, similar to that of a bone breaking and Merlin felt the cords connecting him to Arthur snap. The bonds ricocheted wildly, careening back into Merlin’s chest and tying themselves in frantic knots around his heart. Arthur’s face went white. He gasped, a pained, surprised sound, and crumpled, hitting the floor before Merlin even had a chance to break the fall. He lay very still.  
  
Merlin collapsed to his side, fingers scrabbling for a pulse even as he laid his ear against Arthur’s mouth to hear him breathe. Nothing. Merlin felt panic claw its way up his throat, choking off his breathing and numbing any attempt at thought. He beat uselessly at Arthur chest, fists drumming against cooling flesh even as his magic pulsed and retched in agony.   
  
Opalescent tears splashed down Merlin’s face, staining Arthur’s tunic a deeper red. “No,” he whispered, sobs clawing their way from out his throat. “Please God, no.” There was no response. Screaming, Merlin pressed his head against Arthur’s chest. He did not hear the sickly humming of the sword, or see the flash of light that heralded the Dominions’ arrival. He saw only Arthur – his pale, still face, lips curved in a slight Hippocrates smile.


	10. Chapter 9

“Merlin.  _Merlin_.” Gwen’s voice was soft and insistent, close to his ear. Merlin looked up, blinking away the tears the clouded his vision. His fingers remained locked in Arthur’s clothing, his body practically covering that of the prince. Merlin could not find the words to express his grief – he could barely tear his gaze away from Arthur’s face long enough to look Gwen in the eye. His friend’s face was wet with tears, and she placed one warm, brown hand on Merlin’s shoulder.  
  
“Merlin.” Another voice said, and Merlin reacted to that voice on instinct. He spun, launching himself at the Dominion, clutching at robes and wings without care.  
  
“Save him,” Merlin begged, “please save him.”  
  
The Hashmallim gazed down at the young guardian. Merlin had been his charge since time immemorium, he had never failed a charge before.  
  
“Merlin,” Gwen said quietly. “There’s nothing to be done. He’s dead.”   
  
Merlin shook his head viciously from side to side, still clinging to the Dominion’s robes. “No.” He heaved. “Nothing in this world is finite. Death is not the end men assume it to be.”  
  
“He is not yet dead.” The Dominion conceded. He watched Merlin closely as the angel gasped in relief, hands and body trembling with the release.  
  
“But –” Gwen said, “He’s not breathing.”  
  
“His body is dead. But Merlin has somehow managed to tie the soul to this world. It is not free to leave.”   
  
Merlin felt both simultaneously sick and hopelessly pleased. “Then there’s still a chance.” Stumbling to his feet, Merlin swayed gently. “To save a life, a life must be taken. The balance of the world must be maintained.”  
  
Gwen sucked in a breath in horror. “You cannot commit murder.”  
  
“I don’t intend to.” Merlin said. He looked at the Dominion. The other angel regarded him shrewdly.   
  
“There will be a price.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“It may not be one you are willing to pay.”  
  
Merlin lifted his chin in defiance. “I would gladly give my life for Arthur’s.”  
  
“Very well.” The Hashmallim said. “Be on your way.”  
  
Gwen grabbed Merlin’s hand as he moved past her, staying his progress. “Merlin –”  
  
Merlin gave her a small smile and extricated himself lightly. “It’s the only way.”   
  
oOo  
  
Hell was not always the fiery pit of despair that mortals imagined in to be. That was simply one of its forms. Evil manifested in many kingdoms and sometimes Hell was no more threatening than a hidden hut, deep in the forest where a single man kept passers-by locked and tormented in chains.  
  
For Merlin, Hell was an Island that had once been blessed. But Nimueh had carved a foothold for herself upon its shores and when she fell she dragged that once sacred place down with her. Merlin remembered – once upon a time – how he had darted through the waters of that place. He had let his wings graze the rippling surface, laughing to see his own face grinning back at him as he danced through gentle waves. But he had not dared trespass here for centuries. And even now, the cloying stench of Nimueh’s evil wafted out across the lake – sticking in his nose and throat and ears, choking him.  
  
Merlin alighted gently on the soft green grass of the island. Ruins of an ancient building tumbled into dust around him but he paid them no mind. They may once have been a castle or a church – Merlin did not care - his attention was fixed upon the altar and the woman standing by it.  
  
“Merlin.” Nimueh breathed. There was an almost childlike glee upon her features, a greedy joy that threatened to swallow the world whole.  
  
Merlin swallowed hard, lifting his chin and daring the once-great angel to deny him. “I have come to trade my life for Arthur’s.”  
  
“Have you indeed.” Nimueh said, she floated forward gently, the stench of hell wafting forwards on the breeze. Merlin held his breath and waited for it to pass him by. He feared Nimeuh’s master. Any sentient creature with an ounce of sense feared that thing that lurked beneath. Merlin knew that to make this bargain would be to forfeit his own soul. One did not parley with monsters and expect heaven to welcome you again with open arms. Nimueh was still speaking, her voice a lilting siren-song that promised a tantalising death. “You’ve bound him to you, heart and soul, did you know?” She continued, running one hand idly across the twisted altar. “You’re prince’s fate is under your control. Arthur will never live free now. You’ve managed to do what no angel has accomplished before. You’ve undermined God’s laws and deprived man of his freedom.”   
  
Merlin felt something hot churn uncomfortably in his stomach. “There are plenty of men on the earth who are not free.” Merlin protested.  
  
“But they are enslaved by other men, not by divinity.” Nimueh said slyly. Her voice was light, with an almost song like quality; listening to it felt like drinking poison.   
  
“My life for Arthur’s?” Merlin pressed. Nimueh turned to him.  
  
“No.” She said.  
  
Merlin staggered. “But you were one of the Erelim. You still have the power to grant this, for all that we serve different masters.”  
  
Nimueh laughed softly. “I never said I did not have the power, Merlin. Simply that I would not take your life for Arthur’s.” Merlin felt his heart grow cold. He could place anyone else’s life into the bargain. If Nimueh did not accept him then – “At least, not today.”  
  
“What?” Merlin breathed.  
  
“You and Arthur are destined for great things, Merlin.” Nimueh said. “Under Arthur’s rule Camelot will know a peace unlike any it has ever felt before. There will be wealth and prosperity. It will be a glorious rise. And I wish to ensure its ultimate fall.”  
  
“What do you want?” Merlin said.  
  
“You return to Arthur. He has his life, his kingdom, his prosperity. You remain with him – as is your charge – and I do not interfere. But there will come a day Merlin when Arthur’s army will hold one side of a battlefield; when the sky turns to blood and the earth beneath man’s feet is indistinguishable from the corpses of his comrades. On that day Merlin, when Arthur rides to Camlann you will not be there. Arthur will face Death in battle, and he will lose. Camelot will fall, and in that moment, all that you and he worked so hard to build will crumble to ruin. Albion will be plunged into darkness and chaos. We will have won, Merlin. And you will live for eternity – forever to walk with earth – with the knowledge that it happened because you were not there to protect your charge. That this time, you truly failed.”  
  
Merlin bit his lip and trembled.  
  
“Those are my terms.” Nimueh said. “Do you agree?”  
  
“Yes.” Merlin rasped dryly. His heart was a heavy grindstone in his throat. Men were stronger than she had painted them – they had to be. No man could forget to love simply because the world was no longer quite as safe. Nimueh was wrong. Arthur’s death could not so violently affect a golden age. Ablion would survive it. Even if Merlin did not.   
  
Nimueh held her arm out between them, offering Merlin a finely wrought goblet. Light played in conflicting streams across the surface – gold and silver merged to one, and Merlin was forced to swallow around rising bile as the fractured light lanced into his eyes. Rain clouds began to gather overhead, the stampede of thunder drowning Merlin’s rattling breath as he placed his fingers below Nimueh’s. Together, they held the cup aloft. Merlin’s arm was trembling, but this was the only choice. Nimueh screamed to the heavens and rain thundered from the sky. In moments they were both drenched and the goblet overflowed. United, Merlin and Nimueh drank to seal their pact and Merlin felt heave weep in despair. Nimueh smiled and Merlin took a fortifying breath. He had made a pact with the devil to save his prince’s life.  
  
He could not quite bring himself to regret it.  
  
oOo  
  
Arthur was already awake and resting by the time Merlin returned. There were small signs that Gaius had been and gone, but for the most part, there seemed to have been little notice taken of the Prince’s untimely death.   
  
“Merlin.” Arthur exclaimed when he saw him. “There you are. What happened? All Gaius can tell me was that a maid came in to tend the fire and found me passed out upon the floor. She screamed and called the guards who promptly fetched Gaius who them pronounced me dead. It was quite an embarrassment for him when I then started breathing again. Now, I’m left with a pounding headache, a bruised hip and absolutely no recollection of what happened to get me here in the first place.”  
  
Merlin smiled, rather wanly, and perched on the edge of the bed. “I could tell you that you tried to elope with a seductive-yet-ultimately-no-good-for-you fairy in human guise and that I was forced to knock you over the head in order to prevent you from escaping but I would be lying.”  
  
Arthur blinked once, twice, and then gave the effort up as lost and simply shook his head. “You are a strange creature, Merlin.” He said.  
  
Merlin smiled again, more openly this time. “I know.”  
  
Arthur settle back against his pillows, Merlin could see sleep dragging at him, calling the Prince to slumber. Naturally, Arthur was fighting it.   
  
“I think I dreamed.” He whispered quietly. “There was a falling castle, and a lake. You were speaking to a woman. She had dark hair.”  
  
Merlin felt his throat grow tight. “What else did you dream?”  
  
Arthur sighed, face relaxing as unconsciousness claimed him. “There was a boy, and a field. Armies flew their standards in the breeze. I remember – there was a flag – the house of Tintagel.”  
  
“Was I there?” Merlin asked.  
  
“No.” Arthur said, brow furrowing. “No, you weren’t.” Merlin could see him begin to claw for awareness, hands scrunching in the covers as he made to push upright.  
  
“Sleep, Arthur.” Merlin whispered, smoothing a hand down across Arthur’s face. “Sleep. I’m not going anywhere.”  
  
“Planning on making yourself useful then, Merlin?”  
  
“Of course, Sire. I will stay and see you become King. And I will never leave by choice, Arthur. Remember that – if I’m not there. It was not my choice.”  
  
Arthur smiled, a curious little quirk of the lips as he finally drifted into sleep. “Sometimes I think I know you, Merlin.”  
  
The sentence never ended. Arthur’s breathing evened out and his face fell into the slack lines of dreams.   
  
Merlin lay down beside him, wings spread to protect his king. He would do his duty. And more than that, he would do it from love. Because one day, he would fail his Arthur. And it was never too soon, to begin atoning for ones sins.  
  
 **The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not happy with this ending. I'll admit, I forced it out because it was pointed out to me how dreadful it was that I'd just left this fic hanging - with absolutely no conclusion or anything. Someday, I may come back and drastically change all this but as it stands, this is the fic.


End file.
